Research
by Illwynd
Summary: Faramir can't find a book in the archives.


Title: Research  
Disclaimer: Tolkien gets the credit for the good. Illwynd takes the blame for the bad.  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Faramir, Boromir  
Summary: Faramir can't find a book in the archives.  
Notes: Thanks go to Cressida for the beta job.

Faramir wandered down one of the long aisles of the archives, looking intently at the rows of books and scrolls. He had become very familiar with the archives over the past few months; his studies had become both more difficult and more interesting, and he would often go there afterward to browse for other books on any subject that had caught his imagination. That day, his tutors had been instructing him on the history of Ithilien, and he had a small handful of books and scrolls on the topic all ready on the table by the door. But, no matter how good he had become at navigating this well-ordered disorder, he could not find the last book he sought! He knew it should be there; he had looked at it briefly not a month before, and it should be hard to miss—it was a huge old tome with cracked green binding. But it was not there.

Defeated, he picked up his selections and headed back to his chamber to study them at his leisure. As he walked down the corridor, he noticed something odd: Boromir's door was ajar. Boromir never left it open when he wasn't there, and usually at this hour he was either out on the practice yard or wandering who-knows-where in the City. He had become very close regarding his whereabouts ever since he'd passed his fifteenth winter, and in the last few months he had become positively secretive. They rarely spent time together anymore except at mealtimes or late in the evening. Faramir might have felt hurt by this, except that he himself had become too busy to be lonely.

But now he rushed ahead to drop his books in his own chamber, then headed back to Boromir's door. Peering in, he saw nothing, so he rapped lightly on the door and slipped inside. "Boromir, are you here?"

"Yes. Over here," came his brother's voice softly from the far side of the bed. Faramir could only see his feet beyond it. What is he doing lying on the floor? Faramir wondered. He walked over to find Boromir sprawled out on his belly with a piece of thick canvas before him and pots of paint arrayed all around him. He was holding a fine-haired brush, carefully dabbing it at a light green patch on the fabric.

"What are you doing?" Faramir asked, somewhat startled. Boromir had, to put it lightly, never shown much interest in art.

"Painting," murmured Boromir, still dabbing away.

"I can see that, but what are you painting?"

Apparently satisfied, Boromir set his brush aside and sat back, gesturing to Faramir to see for himself. Faramir leaned close to study it. "Why, it's a map! Of… Dagorlad?" Faramir said, at last recognizing it. It seemed to be accurate, and it was certainly meticulously painted, with hills shaded to indicate elevation, and wide areas of plains painted in mottled brown and grass-green, with little roads running across. "But why?" he asked, turning to look at his brother.

At this, Boromir grinned widely. "Let me show you." He reached under his bed and pulled out a long low box. He flipped the latch and opened it, still keeping its contents hidden, then pulled out a stack of painted canvas maps much like the one drying on the floor nearby. Faramir recognized the one on top instantly: north Ithilien. Next, Boromir drew out a handful of tiny figures, and handed one to Faramir. It was a wooden soldier, no bigger than Faramir's thumb, carved in amazing detail. Its painted garb was green. "I've been working on those for months," Boromir added. When Faramir looked back at his brother, he saw that he was placing a few of the figures down carefully on the map of Ithilien.

"You see? Each figure represents a company," Boromir said excitedly. "I've read about all these battles, but the stories don't tell what happened. Or, well, some of them do, but the older ones, like the Battle of Dagorlad?" he shook his head. "With this, I can play out the battle, and find out how it must have been done. Or at least I think I can," he added thoughtfully, looking at the map and the figures on it. "It _is_ easier if I can _see_ it."

"But there were already maps. And Father's chess pieces could have worked for the figures…" Faramir said, still marveling over how much work had gone into this.

"I know. But I wanted to make them all myself. These will be better, too," Boromir said, moving one of the figures a few inches on the map, "for I won't have to return them whenever Father wants to play chess."

Faramir sat down on the floor across the map from Boromir, and for several minutes watched him silently as he shuffled around the figures, paused and looked at them critically, then moved them around some more. "And, now that you have found me out, you can help. There is a passage that I can't make sense of…" Boromir said at last, reaching back into the box and drawing out a huge book bound with cracked green leather.

"Hey!" cried Faramir at the sight of it. "You had it? I had been looking for that book all day!"

Boromir grinned. "You're not the only one who can find his way around the archives, little brother. You can take the book with you when we're done. Now, tell me what you think this means…"

-end-


End file.
